


Coming Home

by ourgirlfriday



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Crack, Happy Birthday Kage!, M/M, no one has any dignity here, writers are not magneto's friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:01:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1735430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourgirlfriday/pseuds/ourgirlfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik returns to Westchester post DOFP to have a talk with Charles. Charles is less enthused about this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kageillusionz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageillusionz/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOST DARLING OF KAGES. This is unbeta'd, and crack. For some reason I refuse to let Erik have any dignity. In my defense, it's hardly any worse than what the movie writers do, right?

Erik paced nervously outside the mansion doors, trying to keep his thoughts from projecting. He needed to talk with Charles about the past few days. Obviously. Nearly crushing Charles with hovering stadium debris hadn’t been part of the plan at all, and surely Charles knew that. 

The door opened with an ominous creak, and Hank’s blue, furry face poked out. He grimaced when he saw Erik, which was more than a little insulting. He probably hoped for Mystique, Erik realized. Or Logan. 

“Better come in, I guess. You’re wearing a path in the lawn,” Hank sighed. He held the door open for Erik, then let it fall shut behind them. “So. What can I do for you?”

“I need to see Charles,” Erik ordered. His voice was brusque, which pleased him greatly. No wavering here, no siree. Nerves? What nerves. Pffft. Nerves your face. 

Hank stared at him for a beat before shrugging and muttering under his breath about everything ending in tears, but led Erik into the house, presumably towards Charles. He’d count it as a win. 

“Oh, bugger me,” Charles beloved voice called through the sturdy door. “What the sodding hell are you doing here?” 

Erik felt the telltale whisper of Charles entering his mind and he closed his eyes to savor the sensations. He reached for the metal of the doorknobs and twisted them, gently pushing the door open to reveal Charles -- beautiful Charles -- resting atop his bed. He’d shaven since Erik had last seen him, and his hair was significantly shorter and significantly more washed than it had been at the White House. Charles’ eyes were hard, but Erik knew they were covering the maelstrom of his passions. Erik felt the same way, after all. 

“Hello Charles,” he all but cooed as he crossed the length of the room and sat on the bed near Charles’ hip. He reached out and took one cool hand in both of his. “I’ve missed you.”

Charles narrowed his eyes, overcome with the moment. “Okay, did you actually forget that the last time we met you tried to kill my sister, assassinate a president on live television, nearly killed my only friend, and dropped a stadium on me?”

“Charles,” Erik said, hurt. “I only dropped a little bit of a stadium on you. Besides, you haven’t answered my question yet.”

“What bloody question?” Charles grit out. Erik squeezed Charles’ hand, which was gripping his now with a strength Erik hadn’t quite expected. He hazarded a look down and saw the hand Charles clasped was beginning to turn purple. 

“I thought it was obvious,” Erik pouted. “The stadium was a giant ring, after all. And killing Nixon was my present to you.”

“What are you even talking about? Are you high? Is this some sort of post-jail PTSD? It is, isn’t it?”

Erik’s heart did a somersault at Charles’ obvious care, and felt his hopes rise again for the first time since Charles initially rebuffed the question.

“Obviously I asked you to marry me. I thought we could kill the humans at the White House and then use the bunker as a floating honeymoon suite. The humans would clearly capitulate after my impressive show of power, and you, as my stunning mutant consort, would bask in their love and adoration. I told you we wanted the same things.” Erik let himself project smugness at his impeccable reasoning and logic.

“I want you to shut up right about now, but you’re never keen on that.” Charles muttered. Clearly he was trying to deny his feelings. Erik frowned. 

“Is this about shooting your sister? I _said_ I was sorry.”

“No you didn’t. You made a speech about the greater good!”

“Like I said, I _said_ I was sorry. Honestly, Charles. You need to learn to forgive and move on.” 

Erik’s words were obviously having an effect, as Charles had turned a bright shade of red. And clearly the eyebrow twitch was a result of being overcome by Erik’s close proximity. 

“You still tried to kill the president. You were in. Jail. For ten years. For assassinating Kennedy.”

“I told you I had nothing to do with that!”

“It still looks very bad, Erik. Very very bad!”

“It was just Nixon, Charles. Everyone hates Nixon, except possibly Agnew. And you can’t trust anyone named Spiro.” 

Charles exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. Erik caught bits of Charles’s mind counting to ten. Must be some strange telepath thing, he mused. Emma had done that all the time, back when they worked together. 

“Anyway,” Erik continued, waving his hand as if to dismiss all the unnecessary ‘who tried to assassinate whom’ bits and bobs. “You still haven’t answered my question. Really, Charles, it was never like you to be deliberately cruel.” 

For the first time, Erik wondered what would happen if Charles refused. The man loved him, obviously, but what if he was upset about the beach thing and the stadium thing and the piercing Logan with rebar and tossing him into a river thing? Erik knew Charles would see sense eventually, but what if he was addled? What if the stadium thing rattled his brain? He’d had a scrape on his head, Erik recalled. He should have taken Charles back to his super secret bunker to give him appropriate medical attention. 

And surely Charles would have appreciated his special Medical Magneto cape. Surely.

Erik didn’t notice that Charles had started talking until the man reached up and gave a short, yet firm, tug at his hair. 

“Oi. I’m still pissed, Erik. You can’t just leave someone on a beach, let them think you’ve assassinated a president, try to kill their sister, try to assassinate another president, and drip a stadium on them, then waltz into their house and ask them to marry you.”

Erik felt his stomach tumble to his feet as he plotted out routes for escape so he could mourn alone.

“You need to work for this,” Charles continued. Erik felt nauseated as his stomach gleefully lept back to his abdomen. “You need to prove that you’re serious about this, Erik.” 

“Anything,” Erik swore, renewing his grip on Charles’ hand.

“First off, no more flinging metal at me willy-nilly,” Charles said, gravely.

“Done,” Erik promised. 

“Second, no more shooting family unless they really deserve it.” 

“Of course,” Erik pledged.

“Third, no more trying to assassinate presidents.”

“But Charles,” Erik started. He could feel a full whine building in his diaphragm.

“I mean it.”

“Fiiiiiine,” Erik pouted. Charles smiled at him, both sweetly and filthily. 

“Oh Erik. You know I can make it worth your while,” he murmured as he traced his thumb around Erik’s lips. 

Meanwhile, three floors up, Hank fixed himself a drink. This would end in tears, all right. And he fought the uncomfortable feeling, as he batted away telepathic projections of _good lord what is he going to do with that fist_ , that they would be his own.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Return (That Charles Was Totally Not Hoping For)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2064663) by [KatiaSwift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatiaSwift/pseuds/KatiaSwift)




End file.
